


Next Time, Maybe

by StoryCloud



Category: Gregory Horror Show
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Pre-Canon, Spooky, gregory is a spook, pre-first guest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryCloud/pseuds/StoryCloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only one person has ever escaped Gregory House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Time, Maybe

The hallway is empty. The floorboards are creaking. The twilight of quiet, the witching hour, when not a single inhabitant roams the dimly lit halls. The boarded up windows house no lightning, the candles sway back and forth in a breeze that can’t be felt. A chill lingers on the floor at around ankle-height.

A small sniff breaks the silence.

A tiny figure wanders the halls, actually. They might as well not have, for they are as quiet as their species entails. A mouse. Peering around, fluffy grey skin dampened around the eyes, floppy hair falling past his shoulders, the little mouse turns the corner, another sniff falling off his nose.

A sound. The little mouse spins to face it, ears up, eyes wide. Quivering. The noise has no name; a sharp, faded sound, like something breathing. The mouseling starts to move away, fiddling with his hands. Tears slip silently down his cheeks.

Next corner, next hallway.

Almost there. Just one hall at a time...

But then, another noise. The little mouse backs away from it. Creaking floorboards, a wave of them getting nearer and nearer. The boy recoils, arms raising. It’s coming. It’s coming to get him –

His back collides with something. He squeals, loudly, and whirls around –

A red and black sweater, and lopsided eyes.

Gregory tilts his head, “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.” He inquires, plainly. The little mouse stares, hands shaking madly. He peers down the halls, but sees nothing. Hears nothing. Whatever it was is gone.

“Mph...”

“Aw, my _precious_ boy.” Gregory kneels down, one hand moving to smooth back the mouseling’s tangled hair. “Did we have a bad dream?”

That’s the best answer, so Fitzwilliam nods, hands clasping together. A muffled whimper escapes his lips, despite his better effort.

The other mouse titters, shaking his head, “Aw...Let Papa tuck you in again. You’re okay now.”

Didn’t make it.

But Papa’s arms are always warm. The little mouse rests his head, tears still falling, as Gregory turns and treks back the way they’d came, one arm still holding the candle, the other tucking him against his shoulder. “We shouldn’t wander about on our own, should we?” He murmurs, levelly.

“No, Papa...” Fitzwilliam mumbles.

“Papa doesn’t want to be worried, okay?” A little firmer.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Back to the room. The blankets are nice, his toys are his friends. But.

Gregory nestles him into the cloth, securing it tightly around his shoulders. Fitzwilliam can’t force down a hiccup, the tears are stopping, but some remain there, making his face stiff. He stares at the wall, gaze hazy, but then Gregory strokes a hand along his cheek, smiling gently. Fitzwilliam beams, a little.

A warble.

“Love you, Pa-pa...”

“I love you too, my sweet.” Gregory plants a kiss on his forehead, and stands, candle in hand. “You’ll be fine now.” He’s opening the door. Fitzwilliam watches him, purple eyes lidded, but uncertain. Gregory turns to look at him, smiling pleasantly.

“Goodnight...” A sing-song note, and the door closes, cutting off any source of light but that of the beam below.

And, before his father’s footsteps begin to leave, he hears the key turn with a clunk.

 


End file.
